


What builds you up (breaks you down)

by DarkShadeless



Series: Reach for the stars (they are calling for you) [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Drama, Choices, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing and Caring, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 14:38:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16578419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: Soulmarks, a mystery for the ages. Most sentients have them, some wish they didn’t.Theron has always been sitting on the fence between those two categories. He's not the only one.





	What builds you up (breaks you down)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [you will bleed to death with the pain of it](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3916129) by [LullabyKnell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LullabyKnell/pseuds/LullabyKnell). 
  * Inspired by [Everybody Knows Your Name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6431848) by [zarinthel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarinthel/pseuds/zarinthel). 



> I will quote LullabyKnell about the setting here: 
> 
> "Imagine a world of soulmarks where it is not your soulmate's first spoken words to you, but instead the first spoken words of someone who would make a great mark on your soul. It could be anyone: a friend, a relative, a coworker, a lover, an enemy, a person who complimented you at an airport and you never saw them again. Some people have no marks at all; some people have more than they can count with all their fingers and toes; but most people have at least one – for someone who marked their life and soul beyond any point of return."
> 
> The idea stuck with me.

 

Soulmarks. A mystery for the ages. The galaxy over no known culture has managed to unravel their secret.

Personally, Theron couldn’t care less.

 

(That’s not exactly true.)

 

He has one. The words span his biceps, bold and elegant.

There have been times when he stared them down in the mirror and imagined what his life would be like without them.

 

(Wondered, dreamed, _wished_.)

 

He tries not to do that anymore. It’s kind of pointless. Mostly, he forgets they’re there.

 

( _Mostly_.)

 

Great soulmark romances are… well, they’re bantha poodoo. Holodramas will feed them to you a dime a dozen, but even if it weren’t for his own, Theron has met enough people who got the short end of the stick.

 

( _What’s a lady like you doing in a place like this?_

‘He was my first job,’ Chandra whispers to him in the dark.

He couldn’t decide if he was jealous of that. The closure. The _freedom_.)

 

But yeah. Generally, not thinking about it works, as long as he keeps his sleeves long. There’s a reason he loves his jacket so much. He could _sleep_ in it, for days, has done that in fact. How comfortable it is is its second best feature.

Avoidance works just fine for Theron. He has to keep the words covered pretty much _at all times_ anyway. Bit of a pain, that, but what can you do. Easier all around to let it become habit.

At least Chandra could use hers for a red herring, his soulmate wasn’t that considerate. Though ‘soulmate’ isn’t exactly right, is it? The word is loaded with too many expectations.

The connection is _real_ , visceral and defining in a way no other could be, but it’s not always one of _love_. Theron doesn’t have to sit around wondering if there is that one perfect person out there, somewhere, waiting to be found. He knows the answer to that question.

 

(Envy’s an ugly thing, no?)

 

It’s not an issue until he meets Yon again. It doesn’t _matter_ , never did.

 

( _Lies_.)

Completely inconsequential, even between them. When it was just fun, a way to take the edge off with someone he could maybe, possibly, trust not to sell him out right this very second, why would it matter?

But things are different now. _Theron_ is different. Five years and change have left their mark, no pun intended.

Somewhere along the way he forgot how Yon made him feel. They weren’t- they couldn’t- it wasn’t like that. It was _fun_. Their alliance was only ever going to be temporary.

 

(If it was entirely too easy to lean into Yon’s warmth, well. No one would ever know.)

 

There’s nothing temporary about what he feels now. Maybe he was always in too deep, but he could pretend. He’s a little too good at that.

It’s safe to say that Theron regrets his talents at deceiving even himself. _A lot._

_Stupid. So stupid. Just approach this logically. He doesn’t give a shit._

“Theron? Are you alright?”

Logic? Not working.

“I’m okay!”

“… are you sure?” Yon really doesn’t need to sound so dubious about that. “Need a hand?” There’s a pause that’s a sure-fire way to tell he’s about to make an absolutely cringe-worthy - yes, yes he is. “I’ve got a spare one!”

Theron leans his forehead against the mirror with a groan. “Force, you did not go there.”

“I can hear you laughing!”

“Shut up!”

That man. Theron bites back a smile and does not feel as bad as he should about how finding the absolutely worst pun their possibly-significant other will still find funny is becoming a _thing_ between them. Turns out they both have a terrible sense of humor. Who knew?

_Okay. Just- just do it._

This is ridiculous. They’ve had _sex_ for Force’s sake. _A lot of it._ Walking out of the refresher shirtless should not be this big of a deal but… it kind of is. Hard to deny, when Theron has been psyching himself up for the better part of half an hour.

 

Yon’s eyes are on him as soon as he finally gets his bearing together. The unhurried appraisal is damned flattering until his attention is inevitably caught by the looping swirls that stand out against Theron’s skin in stark black.

He has half a mind to distract his lover very thoroughly. Yon might even let him. Especially once he realises… Yon’s smart.  _People_ -smart, first and foremost. He’ll see and he’ll- he’ll figure it out, won’t he? That the one person, the _only_ person who wrote themselves onto Theron’s very soul-

It’s not fair. It should be him. Yon marks so many people just by passing by, friends to strangers. Yon, who has never let him down, whom he can _believe_ when he says ‘I won’t leave you behind. If I can help it, I won’t.’

Why can’t it be _him_? Not-

Goosebumps rise on Theron’s skin in the wake of a ghost of a touch. Yon’s cybernetics are always a little cooler than body temp but that’s hardly what is giving him shivers this time.

His lover traces the very edges of the mark at what might be called an appropriate distance. ~~~~

( ** _What can I do for you, agent?_** )

 

“Is that…?”

Theron has to clear his throat before he can get his voice to cooperate. “Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t babble about how he had no idea for so long, how he wishes he still didn’t. How hearing the words almost killed him. How he checked, just to be sure because he couldn’t not. The handwriting was a perfect match.

There was a time Theron Shan may or may not have been looking forward to meeting his soulmate with all the silly hopes of a romantic at heart.

Yon pulls him close and it almost breaks something inside of him clean in two. Theron buries his face in his shoulder and takes a shuddering breath.

 

(Did she just not say anything to him, when he was a baby? Or doesn’t it count, when you’re doing your level best to distance yourself from the idea of someone, who they are and what that means?

 

_Grandmaster Shan?_

**_What can I do for you, agent?_** )

 

At least he didn’t have to say it out loud. He can bury his heartache in the understanding offered so freely and just... breathe for a while.

 

When Theron feels ready to pack his issues up again he draws back. That was… something. “Right. So, what about you? Do you have one?”

Considering his own experiences he bites his tongue on the rest of what is already on it, waiting to fill the silence with chatter.

As far as Theron knows, the Sith don’t put any more stock in soulmarks than the Jedi. Less. Jedi see the marks as a gift from the Force, something to be accept but not trouble yourself with. A hint of trials to come, at the very least ones of attachment.

The Sith… well. They say the Emperor, as a perfect example of their Order, was unmarked. Unbothered by the touch of another soul, his self his to mould and his alone.

 

(Wicked tongues claim it’s proof Sith don’t have one, a soul. That their pursuit of that ‘ _ideal_ ’ is the most unvarnished way in which they show the galaxy that they don’t want to have one, either.)

 

Yon’s expression grows guarded, slides toward the placid distance that tells Theron more than words could that he has hit a nerve.

It took him entirely too long to pin down what it meant, for someone trained to slip under other people’s guard and ferret out their secrets. Theron spent their early acquaintance waiting for the other shoe to drop. All Sith have a temper, after all.

And Yon does. The times when he allows it to come out to play are limited, though. His default setting is this one, closing up like a high-level encrypted lock on anything that could show weakness.

 

(Anything someone might use against him.)

 

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me. It’s all good, it’s fine. Let’s just,” _Something. Anything that will make you stop looking like_ _you’re making a damned risk-analysis about the likelihood of me putting a knife in you.  
_

Considering his own wide variety of dealing with his hang-ups, Theron should be the last to judge anyone for the same. Intellectually, he knows Yon probably doesn’t mean to. If that’s even what is going through his mind, chances are he just can’t help himself.

It still hurts. Feelings are stupid like that.

His lover purses his lips and averts his eyes. “Three. I had three.”

 _Had_. In one word, Theron has an entire holo-channel’s worth of fresh nightmare fodder. That’s another of those things Yon makes a habit of, and always has, that the agent really rather he didn’t. 

He’s not even surprised at this point and he shouldn't be.

Everyone in the Republic has heard about the more barbaric practices of the Sith, that even some of their own shy away from. Sometimes Theron forgets Yon takes his cultural heritage very serious, despite all reminders of the contrary. In this case:  _yikes_. “Oh. Do you,” _know what they said_ , kriff, no, “Sorry. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

He should have thought this through before he opened this can of worms. When is he ever going to learn?

For a Sith, Yon can be annoyingly circumspect. For example he might answer a jittery lover, who has enough trouble asking but really wants to share a sensitive subject ‘If you want to.’ and that stupid asshole, distracted by his own problems, will completely miss the implied ‘I’d literally rather skin myself but I will. For you honey.’ until it’s so far past too late they’re approaching ‘early’ from the other side. You know, hypothetically, that’s something that could happen.

Great, now Theron is feeling even worse than he already did.

The sound his lover makes, too resigned to be a laugh, doesn't help either. “Oh, no, I, I know that they said.” He glances up, can’t quite meet Theron’s eyes and looks away again. Dear Force but he has seen him like this exactly once: the night he finally opened up about how he felt about what happened to him on Zakuul.

 

(“ _Five years._ I missed five years and… you’re still here but you’re not-“

 _You’re not mine. You’re not the people I loved._ )

 

To say they had a rough start in the wake of that confession would be an understatement.

The possibility to see Yon brought that low again hurts more than words can say. “You _really_ don’t have to do this, love.” _I should have never asked. If I knew- I wouldn’t have._

Too often, Theron pries. He needs to feel closer, to share bits and pieces of himself with this person he _can_ love, whom he can rely on. He wants Yon to know him. Greedily, _selfishly_ , he wants that returned.

But his lover is someone forged in fire. The more Theron uncovers, the more it seems as if the experiences that define him hold so much pain and grief, so much rage and loss, that he couldn’t say how the man carrying them has the strength to keep trying. Too many of the bits and pieces Yon is made of are sharp-edged enough to cut.

Somehow, instead of leaving him _broken_ , they come together to form the most uniquely stubborn bastard Theron has ever met. Yon’s determination might as well be cast from beskar. Sometimes that's a good thing, sometimes not so much.

Theron can read it right off the way his mouth sets and knows he has lost this argument before it ever begun. “I want to.”

“You don’t look like you do.”

“Oh, like you were happy about telling _me_. You still _wanted_ to, right?”

… point.

“Okay. Alright. So, three, huh?”

With a deep breath that’s a blatant show of nerves, Yon nods. “One… it was right here.”

He rubs a thumb over the plating of his cybernetic arm, just above the wrist, and it takes Theron a precious few moments to realize what he means. _Oh, hells._ That’s certainly one way of losing a mark and the limb to go with it.

“Wow. Sorry about that.“

“I’m not.”

 _O-kay._ “Not a good one, I take it?”

A small, sardonic smile flashes across Yon’s lips. “You could say that.” He’s still tracing a pattern only he can see over the glossy white that’s a perfect match to his armor.

Theron got to find out about his disability the first time they ended up falling into bed together. Fun times. He didn’t hear the full story until _years_ later. 'Touchy subject' would be one way to put it.

“It was his. You could say he took it from me at the same time he made his final… impression. I always thought it was kind of fitting.”

 _Bloody, screaming void._ At least his mother never tried to have him brutally murdered and cost him an arm and a leg in the process. She did a lot of other things but not that.

“Baras?”

 

( ** _Are you having trouble with acolyte Vemrin, supplicant?_** _)_

 

“Please tell me the rest of them were better.”

His flippancy is met with a laugh so harsh Theron’s heart misses a beat. _Aw, kriff._ _It can’t possibly be worse can it?_

As if to answer his thoughts Yon tugs at the hemline of his tank top. Just underneath the curve of his ribs there’s a broad stretch of scar tissue Theron has never paid any mind to. He has seen it, once or twice, but Yon has so very _many_ scars. Isn't that about where Arcann almost cut him in half, too?

“That one I- I had it removed. After,” his lover swallows, “Ziost.”

… Theron is terribly, horribly wrong about _everything_ and he will never ask a single question ever again. _Shit._

The black fabric bunches in Yon’s grip, that’s just shy of white-knuckled. “I couldn’t stand- I didn’t want him to own a shred more of me than I absolutely had to tolerate.”

_And then he kidnapped me and I killed him but he **got into my head** -_

It’s Theron’s turn to wrap his arms around his lover and hope beyond reason that his touch will be enough to make any of this better. Nothing could be but…

Yon is stiff as a board. He’s so still Theron’s rethinking his decision pretty much immediately. Before he can backpedal to give him space a faint shudder runs through his lover’s body. Slowly, so slowly, he returns the hug as if he has to fight an unseen force the whole way.

Knowing how long he has carried this around with him, maybe he is.

His voice is so small, it’s like he hopes he won’t be heard. “You know, when he chose me I thought it was an honor. I was so _proud_.”

 

( ** _Wrath. Come to me._** )

 

Theron can barely imagine it. He only met the Wrath in person after Vitiate’s first ‘death’ but… he knows the depth of Yon’s conviction, of his drive. Their Commander could shake worlds out of alignment if he wanted to. Just look at how far they have come under his leadership, when the rest of the galaxy was helpless in the wake of Zakuul, even their scattered attempt at a rebellion.

All of that power and effortless charisma, leading by example… at the Emperor’s whim.

It really is a good thing Yon is so stubborn. If he had given in, joined Valkorion the way the bastard kept demanding right up until the end… Theron holds his lover close and carefully buries that thought.

Instead he haltingly eases his death grip on something he has never told anyone, either. Most days he can barely stand to face the truth of it himself.

“No matter what I do, a part of me always expects Satele to care.”

He has to all but force it to tumble from his lips, stark and bleak. A lifetime of experience with his ‘soulmate’ and that’s the long and short of it. He can’t shake it, never could.

That connection… real, visceral and defining. Whether you like it or not.

Yon’s arms tighten around him a little. It’s… it’s not making anything right but it’s good. It certainly matters more than a bunch of assholes who never gave a shit about either of them anyway and never will.

Pressing a kiss to dark hair, Theron huffs. “I don’t know about you, but I will have some hot chocolate. Screw all of this.”

His lover’s startled snicker might be the most beautiful thing he has heard all day.

 

 

Hot chocolate makes everything better. It’s a universal law.

At the very least it gives humans a sugar rush and an endorphin high and Theron is in desperate need of both of those. Especially in the face of Yon’s slightly red eyes and the fact that his shirt is a little damp. He doesn’t say a word about it.

Force. They didn’t even get through the whole of their show and tell. What a pair they make.

Yon stirs his cup absentmindedly, focussed on the chocolate-y swirls. “Do you want to know about the last one?”

With supreme effort of will Theron does not put his foot in his mouth. Mostly. “… how bad is it?”

His suspicion earns him a snort. “It could be worse.”

“Really not reassuring, love.”

Generally, Yon’s interpretation of ‘it could be worse’ is terrifyingly laissez faire and with who _else_ wrote themselves onto his skin, Theron doesn’t think this topic will change his track record.

With a last twirl of his spoon, the Sith glances at him. He doesn’t look as braced as before but there’s something in his careful appraisal that sets Theron on edge.

“What is it?”

“We’re marked for each other.” The gentle words cascade down his spine like a shower of ice cubes. “Granted, I’m not completely sure. It’s likely, though.”

Under Yon’s eyes he barely dares breathe. _Marked for each other._ Dozens of questions crowd Theron’s mind, one louder than the next. _Have you asked? Who is it? Will you-_

He swallows them all down, heavily. Especially the last one. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” Yon taps a finger against the warm mug, as if he isn’t in the process of upending Theron’s world completely. “It would explain a few things. Others not so much but that’s life, I guess.”

Who could it be? Lana, with her unwavering desire to find him and get him back? That friend of his maybe, Vette? She’s pretty, the way only a slim twi’lek lady can be. But wouldn’t he know for certain, if it was her?

There are so very many possibilities and-

Theron might be panicking a little bit. It’s _ridiculous_ , if they’ve established anything between them then that being marked for someone doesn’t have to mean kriff all. It doesn’t have to mean-

Not even if it’s mutual.

“Do you… still have it?”

He’s wincing before he has finished the question. Thank the flarking stars it doesn’t faze his lover in the slightest. Yon just nods, still looking about a hundred miles away.

“On my back. Kind of funny, seeing as that’s what he stabbed me in, all those years ago. The Force sure likes its irony.”

… there’s not a single mark on his lover’s body that doesn’t stand for betrayal. That’s…

“Wait, are you trying to tell me-“

 

( ** _I apologize for the delay, my lord._** _Lieutenant Malavai Quinn. I’m to be your liaison here on Balmorra._

 _It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance._ )

 

“Malavai Quinn.”

“That jumped-up imperial lackey?”

Yon’s indignation is immediate and all encompassing. “Hey, I resent that! _I’m_ a jumped-up imperial lackey! He rates stuck up at _best_.”

Theron snorts his chocolate up his nose. His lover, the bastard, laughs at his misfortune until he has stopped coughing. “You bantha’s ass. You timed that on purpose.”

“Prove it.”

“I don’t have to. No court would rule in your favour.”

“How very dare you, agent Shan.”

Their banter soothes away the last clinging vines of ice. This is _theirs_. Whatever Quinn may share with the man that holds Theron’s heart in his hands, Yon chose _him_. Has continued to choose him, despite any difficulties they have faced since they decided to try for something _real_ , something that would last beyond a few one-night stands.

Like now. Yon reaches for him, across the table, and there’s no fibre of his being that could say no to him in this moment.

 

(That could say no to him, ever. It _should_ have been him, who left his mark on Theron’s soul. It makes no sense that he didn’t. He’s… everything he has ever wanted, _almost_ everything and unlike the people who are the rest of that, he returns Theron’s feelings. He has never turned his back and left him wondering, always running after them and never catching up.)

 

Theron tangles their fingers together and squeezes, despite the fact that his lover probably can’t feel it. He’s starting to get used to treating the cybernetic just like the real thing. “So, Quinn. Love at first sight?”

Yon squeezes back carefully, wistfulness stealing over his face. “Didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.” _But that changed_ , hangs unspoken between them. The Sith lets out a deep breath. “I almost wrung his neck when he betrayed me. I was _this_ close.”

Theron eyes the fingers his lover holds up for illustration of distance. There’s… not a lot of space between them. “But you didn’t.”

He’s not sure whom he is trying to reassure here. Killing a soulmate is no little thing. That’s what makes some of the stories about how Sith handle their marks so terrible. Darth Malgus comes to mind.

 

(That line of thought stirs up that Yon did have to do that, he had to do that _twice_. They didn't leave him a choice.)

 

“I could have.” There’s a weight to those words that belies their simplicity. “I had him and I remember thinking that. Knowing it. Quinn showed me that I’m capable of murdering someone I love.”

Theron can’t deny that hearing it spelled out like that is horrifying but he refuses to lose sight of the important part. “You _didn’t_. You wouldn’t.”

“No.” Solemnly, Yon looks down at their joined hands. “It would destroy something inside of me I could never repair.”

To someone raised to be a Jedi, no matter that he was booted out of the Order before he hit his late teens, that statement resonates deeply. It… explains a lot.

Yon is Sith and he can be ruthless when he wants to be. Theron has no illusions about that. But… who has come out of their year-long conflict without blood on their hands? Certainly not Theron himself. For a Sith, for the _Wrath_ , Yon has always been remarkably grey around the edges.

“I spared him but I didn’t do it for him. I did it for me. I don’t think he ever understood that.”

“Yeah, I didn’t get that impression.” Which begs the question, “When he asked you for another chance…”

Yon’s lips quirk into a mirthless smile. “I might have been lying.”

“’Might have’?”

With a sigh from the very depths of his soul, his lover slumps. “I loved him and he took my trust and crushed it. I’m not sure I _can_ trust him again. I don’t think I _want_ to. He could lay the galaxy at my feet and it wouldn’t erase what he did.”

Theron can get behind that. He really, truly can. Some things you can’t forget, no matter what happens. Maybe you can’t even _forgive_ them.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. I just feel bad about it. Don’t ask me why, I just do.”

_Because he figured out he did love you after all and deep down you believe him. And you know that you’ll never return it if you don’t trust him because you can’t love what you can’t trust. But you’re a good man and the thought of him chasing desperately after something you can’t and won’t give him makes you uncomfortable, even if it's his own fault._

For once Theron manages to hold his tongue. They’ve had quite enough introspection for one night, thank you very much.

Yon hefts his cup with a smile that’s a little brittle but unwavering. “To terrible soulmates. They suck.”

Now if there is one thing they can agree on… Theron chuckles. “They suck. Cheers.”

 

 

After more hot chocolate than is strictly advisable and breaking out the Corellian brandy because why the heck not, Yon may or may not dump Theron on the bed and strip off his shirt in a move that leaves his throat dry. The light’s still on. He can’t help but glance at the curve of his ribs, the broad scar there.

Instead of joining him, Yon detours to the office, leaving him with a perfect view of the precise writing that spans his shoulder blades. ‘ _I apologize for the delay, my lord.’_

Theron’s own mark itches in response.

Thank the Force his lover is back and an _excellent_ distraction before he can lose his buzz. It’s such a nice one.

“Oof! Watch it! You’re freaking heavy!”

“Did you just call me fat?”

“I called you two fifths solid metal, what the _hell_.”

Yon laughs, carefree as you please and with an edge of sadistic delight because he’s a _nerf herder_.

Before Theron can try and retaliate, probably by starting a tickle fight he will lose, he almost gets his eye pocked out with a-

“Honey, I’m not shoving that up my ass.”

Yon snorts. “No one is shoving that up their ass. Why would we?”

That… is a very good question. A better one is, “If we’re not going for really weird improvisation, why do you have a marker?”

There’s a beat of silence. The trickster’s grin his lover is wearing fades into something softer, almost shy. "I figured… would you care to give me an autograph, agent Shan?”

What he _means_ slowly filters through Theron’s confusion. In the blink of an eye his heart is in his throat and no amount of swallowing will put it back where it belongs.

 

(It should have been _him._

Maybe he’s not the only one who feels like that.)

 

He catches the pen. One of them is shaking, a little. Theron can’t tell who. “Where?” He sounds hoarse to his own ears, as if he has caught the Chandrillan flu in the last five seconds, or maybe as if they’ve gotten to fun stuff they definitely haven’t gotten to yet.

Yon slides more firmly into his lap and pulls his hand towards his chest. “Right here.”

Right over his heart. Theron's pulse is pounding so loudly Yon can probably hear it. Fuck, he’s going to screw this up. His handwriting is always flarf, Lana says so and she gets his reports and what is he even going to write-

“Theron?”

“Sorry- I- Do you-“ Theron clears his throat and makes his best attempt at pretending not to be a complete wreck of a human being. “You got something you want me to sign?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

 

( ** _Hi. You don’t know me but I’m here with Lana._** )

 

“Right. I can do that.” His hand isn’t really steady but Yon doesn’t seem to mind that he smudges it a bit. That soft, shy look hasn’t left him and Theron is half sure if he isn’t careful he’ll choke on his own heartbeat. “Do you want to do me too?”

_Please. Please just make me yours, I’m so tired of feeling like I don’t belong to anyone but her._

“If you want me to.”

“ _Yes_.”

 

( ** _You are with the Republic, aren’t you?_** )

 

Maybe whomever imprinted themselves onto their spirit unasked doesn’t matter quite as much as it could.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Roughly, the most important things the people that made their marks taught them (in some very painful ways)
> 
> Baras – Hatred  
> Vitiate – Devotion  
> Quinn – Evil is a choice 
> 
> Satele – Abandonment and that you can overcome it to be your own person, even if the scars might never heal
> 
> These experiences and their relationship with these people shaped who they are so deeply no one else ever came close.  
> That doesn't mean they can't choose whom they will allow to make their own mark, whether the Force gave them one of fate or not.


End file.
